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Monthly Archives: November 2024

here we are again/we wrote a po/m on July 25th/and then the rest of july

we wrote a poem every day in august

we wrote a poem every day in september

october too/and november so far

and it’s eight in the morning/and the nagvoice says “now write a poem”

and there’s plenty to write about/it being election day/and the most crucial moment in the history of our country

or if we’re burned out on politics/we could write about our hand surgery/coming up in january

or about the charming kid-drawings our aunt diane found

hell we could even write about how autocorrect just changed hell to he’ll

or how we are one person/but we keep using the “royal we” right now

but let’s talk about what a poem is/and what distinguishes a poem/from other arrays of words

it doesn’t have to be tricky

write something and call it a poem/and behold it IS a poem/and no one can tell you otherwise

it just may not be a GOOD poem/he’ll it may not even be a WORTHY OF READING poem

but in our book of life a poem not worthy of reading (and we have written some real stinkers) is not worthy of posting

the posted stuff has a chance of making readers see or feel or think and be grateful they did

and/dispensing with that pompous “royal we”/you o reader/can read my mind

and that is miraculous

we like to make fun of each other/and the attack of one’s lack of intelligence or sense/is rife

but our vocabulary arsenal is inexact

we could say ‘foolish’/which means ‘similar to a fool/but that really means ‘similar to one/who is easily fooled’/which misses the mark

(sidebar: for a terrific fairy tale written and illustrated by Howard Pyle, find “How Boots Befool’d the King” in his classic The Wonder Clock)

then there’s ‘idiotic’/which is ‘of or like an idiot’ but some do not know that ‘idiot’  was once a legal and medical term/referring to one whose mental development is deemed to be that of a two-year old or worse

(sidebar: the poet John Ciardi made fun of William Wordsworth’s “The Idiot Boy” in his ambitious, explicative How Does a Poem Mean?)

(sidebar: i must read Fyodor Dostoevski’s The Idiot) before I die)

and ‘moron’ and ‘imbecile’ had similar journeys

(sidebar: i still laugh at thinking of that alt-right protester holding up a sign saying YOU MORANS)

(sidebar: Supreme Court Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes, who believed in eugenics, wrote the majority opinion for Buck v. Bell, which was about mandatory sterilization of the ‘feeble-minded,’ and includes these exact w.ords: “Three generations of imbeciles is enough.” That was less than 100 years ago)

ss for stupid/it should mean ‘in a state of stupefaction’/which is a sort of paralysis/brought on by an unexpected event

but to continue splitting hairs like this/is stoopid

Hang your head and count your cursings/Worrywarts are rife and welcome/Put a mousetrap on your purse strings/Soon high water; sooner Hell’s come.

Grinners laughers friendlies ticketed/Rants and ranters championed/Free&Easers get persnicketed/Dimed and quartered; amply dunned.

You don’t like it? Hit the road, Bud/Sunshine lover? Not our kind/Lead balloon and splat-implode-thud/Pull the blest venetian blind.

City limits marked with waxwork/Downtown’s square between my ears/My brain’s Gloomberg: Death and Tax work/Overtime to stoke the drears.

enter oxy exit cee oh two/let the good time red corpuscles roll/feed the cells come back for more and woo/the alveoli lading out the dole

for heat a sheen of vaporizing sweat/for cold a rapid tremor-matrix shake/a dreamful sleep makes sanity well met/digestion staves the cravings for beat’s sake

forgive me pretty please with sugar on it/i am so shy here, four lines shy of sonnet

the younger brother waits on the phone/for his older brother to find the word that is eluding him

and after a decent interval supplies the word in the form of a polite question: “whitewater?” “yeah…”

their conversation lurches here and there like a car/driven by someone learning stick shift

it gets smoother at the end with the manly I Love Yous and Keep Punching Buds that slide into well-worn conversational grooves

the younger brother pushes the red Off hangup icon but misses/and pushes again but before he does/he hears his older brother whimper eloquently

he hears frustration and loss in that untranscribable syllable/and more/he hears dim realization/that he is losing his mind a piece at a time/just like mom did

the younger brother feels a pang but does not whimper

not audibly